Cookie

Some animals come to stay. Others come to teach you something.

Earlier this year, a few stray cats started showing up in my yard. Like I’ve always done, same as my parents, I fed them. I always do.

At the time, I had four or five I was feeding regularly. One of them was a small gray and white one. Really pretty. Young. She didn’t want much to do with me at first. She just showed up one day out of nowhere, and I fed her. Over time, she stuck around.

She was probably about five months old when another little kitten appeared. A tuxedo one. Also a girl. Tiny. Out of nowhere, too. And that gray and white cat? She took her in. They became inseparable. I watched them all summer, playing in the yard together. The gray and white one even tried to nurse her. She’d bring the tuxedo kitten over to the food I put out. It was like she adopted her.

Eventually, the gray and white one let me pet her, but the tuxedo kitten stayed distant. She didn’t care about me. She just wanted to be with her new best friend. And honestly, they seemed happy like that.

But toward the end of August, things changed. The gray and white cat got pregnant. TNR didn’t get there in time to fix her. After that, she started pulling away from the tuxedo kitten. They stopped hanging out. The tuxedo one was on her own, but she didn’t leave. She stayed in my yard.

She still ate with the others, but she kept her distance. Over time, she started getting a little closer to me. A few feet closer every day. Eventually, I could pet her. She was sweet, but still shy. Didn’t like being around the other cats much. She was small, and stayed small. More of a loner, but she liked being near me.

One day, I picked her up, and she let me. This was early October. I thought maybe I could bring her inside. So I did. I brought her in and set her down in the spare room to let her adjust. But as soon as I did, she panicked. Ran back and forth. Jumped at the window, trying to get out. She made it crystal clear she didn’t want to be indoors.

So I opened the porch window, and she jumped right through it. Then she sat in the grass like nothing had happened. I went outside to feed everyone, and she walked right up to me again like it was any other day. No drama. That’s just how she was.

After that, I never tried to bring her inside again. I also never named her. She stayed out with the others, but she always felt separate. Over time, she got pickier with food. Didn’t eat with the others, so I’d bring extra. I tried to distract the rest of the cats so she could eat in peace. Some nights, I’d go out around 7 or 8 with a can of tuna and some treats. I’d sit on the porch with her and a little black and white kitten she’d kind of become friends with.

They had their own rhythm.

A few days ago, she was sitting by me during feeding time. I pet her a bit and said, “You know what? I’m gonna call you Cookie. You’re my little Cookie.” It felt right. I went and got her a little outdoor cat house, put it on the porch, and she actually started using it.

The next couple of nights were cold, so I made sure she had extra straw. She’d go into the house, which made me feel better. One night, she didn’t come out when I brought food, but I saw her in her house and figured she just didn’t feel great. Maybe a stomachache. I checked on her before bed, she was curled up inside. I left a couple of treats by the door just in case she wanted them later.

This morning, I opened the front door like I always do. Cookie’s usually sitting right there, waiting. But today, she wasn’t. I fed the others, then went over to her little house.

She was laying there. Not moving. At first I thought she had passed. But when I touched her, she was warm. She hadn’t frozen. I felt a breath. Touched her paw, there was still resistance. She was alive, but she didn’t move or react. She just laid there.

So I brought her into the house. I figured she was probably going to pass, but I didn’t want her outside alone. I laid her in her house in the spare room and let her rest. She was breathing okay, and for a few minutes I had hope. Maybe she’d warm up. Maybe she’d wake up and feel better. But deep down, my intuitive voice told me she wasn’t staying.

Still, I sat with her. Pet her. Talked to her.

I told her, “I’m so glad I named you Cookie. Because now, if you pass, I know you knew you were loved. You had a name. You mattered.”

She passed that morning.

Being a medium and psychic, and having survived a near-death experience, I know she’s fine. That’s not the part that hurts.

The reason I’m telling this whole story, especially about naming her, is because I think people forget how much it matters. We see stray animals and think, “Oh that’s just a cat,” or “That one comes by sometimes.” But giving them a name means something. Even if you never touch them. Even if they never come inside. Naming them means you saw them. It means they belonged to someone. They were part of something.

I’m okay. I’m sad Cookie’s gone, but I know she was never going to be my house cat. She was never going to curl up in my lap or follow me around. That wasn’t her path. And it didn’t matter.

For six months, she gave me so much joy. Just being her. Watching her play. Watching her slowly trust me. Letting me pet her. Letting me hold her.

People don’t get it, but animals are above us. They’re part of the angelic realm. I always say, if you kick a dog, you’re kicking an angel. Animals know from birth that they’re eternal. They don’t obsess about what’s going to happen to them. That’s why they live so freely. Why they move through the world without fear.

Their transitions are easier than ours. Humans are still hung up on fear. Heaven. Hell. Judgment. Or they’ve lost all belief because religion burned them so badly they turned to science, who still doesn’t have the full story. Yet.

I’m not trying to go on a rant about religion. I’m saying this: when an animal passes, they’re not gone. They’re still around. And when an animal chooses to share even a piece of their life with you, honor that. Give them a name. Show them you saw them. Show them they mattered.

When they come back again, they carry the knowledge of that connection.

Rest in peace, Cookie.
I love you.
Thank you.